The Call of the Thunder Dragon (55 page)

The main hall contained a
sculpture of the Buddha Sakyamuni, seated on a lotus throne and
beside it another statue of the Buddha Demchok. More statues, of
more teachers and abbots who had become revered themselves, sat in
alcoves around the room.

A Tantric monk, sat inside
meditating, dedicating his purpose to the teachings of the Buddhas.
Butter lamps lit the room giving it a warm yellow glow. Incense
burned at altars where gifts of dried food or rice had been left as
offerings to the Buddha and taken by the monks to help support
their merger way of life. Everything dedicated or given in thanks
for the teachings or guidance of the Buddha.

The rickshaw guide whispered.
“Mount Kailash is the home of the Buddha Demchok. He represents
supreme bliss!”

The guide himself then knelt and
put his hands together as he closed his eyes.

Zam silently stepped aside and
then giving an offering of copper coins, she took a stick of
incense and lit it, placing it with the other slowly smouldering
sticks that released their calming perfumed scent into the air. Zam
knelt and sat with her hands together in thought, dedicating her
thoughts to the Buddha.

Falstaff meant to follow her and
sit beside her, he wondered what prayers she was offering or what
thoughts she was collecting in her mind or what idea she was
seeking to pluck from it for inspiration. Maybe she was trying to
do the opposite and sought inspiration to overcame a fear?

Falstaff found himself
distracted, his eyes fixed on an old teak wood relief by the
door.

The wooden scene, carved and
painted on the wood, featured a monkey-faced man, with a tail,
standing on a cloud. The paints were faded but deeply ingrained in
the old splitting wood. The monkey had five faces and many arms.
Around him were fantastic demons and monkeys all fighting dragons.
Nine Dragons noted Falstaff as he had seen depicted in China when
he’d found the tablets with General Ma. He licked his lips.
Unconsciously, his eyes lit up as he stared, taking in auspicious
detail aroused to the prospect of genuine treasures actually
existing, lost waiting to be found. It was too much of a
coincidence, he wanted to know more; find the treasure be rich. He
could almost smell the sea salt in the air with the perfume of hot
baked sand between his toes and the hear sound a girl strumming a
ukulele as he took to his retirement with ease.

He started humming, then broke
into a whispered song:

“I got a girl named Pila
Pupu,

she's the Queen of the South Sea
Isles.

She's the kind that send you
wild...”

Zam and guide found him there,
captivated, studying each of the poses and types of dragon being
fought by the monkey in the wooden relief.

“This is Hanuman, his face here
to the east grants purity of mind and success,” Zam said. “In
China, he is also called…”

“Sun Wukong or Son Goku, I know.
I was told the tale of him, - and of Hanuman by that mad old goat
herder I was locked up with.” Falstaff said. “These dragons are
interesting, there’s nine of them?”

Zam looked, studying the dragons.
“I’m not sure, do you recognise them?”

“That one, the orange one. I’ve
seen a picture, a sketch... just like it?” He remembered the pale
Orange dragon, a twisting water serpent, with silted eyes blood
pink, with twisting barbels and short clawed legs rearing up in an
S shape. So it was true he pondered. What other wonders would he
find he pondered?

“It is the Sri Panchamukha
Hanuman.” Their guide said. “The five faces of Hanuman. It is
interesting to you?”

“Yes, very,” Falstaff said. “But
more so, these nine dragons! The original statues would be worth a
lot if those were to be real pearls in their mouths?”

“I do not know of this, maybe one
of the monks?” Their guide suggested.

Falstaff smiled. “Do you mind if
a take a picture or two? I have a friend who is a history
teacher.”

With the sun streaming through
the skylights, he was able to take several pictures by moving the
burning oil lamps at discrete angles.

A monk entered. “You are
interested in our image of Hanuman? Whoever worships Hanuman is
granted fortitude and strength; this is true in Hinduism, Jainism
and Buddhism
. ‘He who acts for me, who is engrossed in me, who
is my devotee, who is free from attachment, he reaches me’
. We
find all these five qualities enshrined in Hanuman, or if you
prefer Sun Wukong?”

“Can you tell me about the
dragons.” Falstaff persisted, licking his lips.

“The nine dragons are a mystery
to me, it seems to represent some story unfinished or yet to be
told!”

“And the pearls what about the
pears?” Falstaff asked hungrily.

“You’re not thinking about Dragon
Pearls are you?” The monk frowned.

“What about the objects in this
figure’s hands?” Falstaff asked.

The monk pointed to each. “His
weapons and of course monkey has his big Gada mace. It is getting
late. My thanks for your offerings. Please come to visit
again.”

He turned to go, but Falstaff had
a final question.

“What’s the point of these
carvings?” Again gesturing at the dragons.

The monk rubbed his nose. “None
that I can discern. It is about a treasure lost forever or that is
waiting to be found. The nine dragons were sculptures not seen for
generations before this was carved. Either way, there’s little
purpose in searching for what is so long lost? It is the monkey
king who stands immortal that is important.”

Falstaff raised his voice to ask
another question but the monk had gone.

“Treasure? Can you believe it?”
Falstaff eyes darted over the details carved so delicately in the
wood. His heart racing, he licked his lips, suddenly thirsty. “I’d
like to know more!” He looked at Zam his eyes wide.

Zam frowned, concentrating she
rubbed her temples then with her hands held together related her
answer. “Monkey was a great mystic; he transcended the five senses.
Five is an important number, it 's hard to explain.” She broke off
looking deeply sincere and emotional.

They left the temple, the bicycle
rickshaw taking them with hardly any effort down the slope, back
into the woods and down to the riverbank. The sky began to darken,
with more grey clouds descending the mountain, signalling the
approach of dusk.

Falstaff had a little time to
think as they rolled along, the spokes and gears ticking as the
rickshaw freewheeled down the hill. The picture of the monkey
Hanuman remained in Falstaff’s mind. He recalled some of the
stories told about him and his many attributes.

He held Zam’s hand and leant over
to kiss her cheek.

“What is it?” She asked

“I believe… I think I’ve had an
original idea.” Falstaff said. “What if I could actually find those
blasted Dragons? Instead of just collecting stories about them, I
could find those statues, there’d be worth a fortune! Way more than
that gold or Jade of yours!”

Zam sighed, trying not show how
tired she was. “Fortune? Why do you think of gold and treasure? I
don’t know you are so interested in history and antiques, more you
want gold and money!”

They took the last boat bound
for Guwahati across the river. It was one another of the big flat
motor boats. The wait was made longer and more unpleasant by the
arrival of darkness, bringing insects and flies that seemed intent
on buzzing around their faces. The Crossing was done in near
darkness, the white foam of the raging river glowing in the dark.
Ahead the ferry port was lit only by dim lights until they were
close, then the lights were switched on and the city and riverside
markets seemed to light up and come alive. They dismounted as their
guide pushed the bicycle rickshaw ashore. They headed into the
darkness, seeking out the lights flickering at the end of the path
leading to the street.

They arrived at their last
destination in Guwahati after darkness fell. They paid off their
guide generously. He left them with a cheery wave then disappeared
the rickshaw creaking into the dark.

Falstaff and Zam regarded the lot
they now found themselves in front of. A fence separated the road
from the levelled earth, filled with new and rusted cars, trucks,
tractors, even an old bus. The access to the lot was through a bar.
‘Elisa’s Bar’, in the next side street, from the back alley they
saw another bustling market lit by lanterns on the another side of
the block.

Falstaff regarded the lot,
noticing a new 1938 Ford Prefect and then a Wolseley Four-cylinder
being worked on by oil smeared mechanics. Some just boys working
under the light of several flickering electric bulbs. The boys paid
no attention to the buzzing insects attracted by the light.
Instead, they focused on the heart of the oil smeared engine opened
up in front of them.

As Falstaff and Zam entered the
bar and were welcomed by an Indian woman, she regarded them with a
faint smile. A welcome suspiciousness reserved by all small bar
owners for new customers.

“Hello, are you lost?” She said,
“We’re open, but I can give you directions if you like?”

“No, thank you I’ll have a large
Gin and Tonic please, Zam? Actually, we came to see someone called
Roy Hamilton?” Falstaff asked.

“Oh, you want my husband? You
came for a car?”

The woman went away, leaving them
to drink in the little bar. No more than a shack with a vestibule.
The bar ran down the middle of the room. One side was the kitchen
and bar area, the other for customer’s a row of stools. The walls
were covered with postcards and photographs. A string of lights
faintly lit the room, hung unevenly along the top of the bar and
across the wall into the loose switch.

“Hi, there I’m Roy! What can I do
for ya?” Roy was big blonde haired New Zealander. “After buying a
motor or have ya broken down someplace?”

“Neither actually,” Falstaff
offered his hand, Roy smiled, wiping his hand on his filthy
overalls. He cheerfully shook Falstaff’s hand then Zam’s.

“We were telling you wife Elisa
about the journey we’re making to Bhutan,” Falstaff explained.

“Bhutan? Christ, why on earth
would ya do that in the winter?” Roy asked. “Elisa is my ex-wife.
She hated my drinking, so I named the bar after her. Deepti here is
my second wife, ain’t she lovely?”

Deepti smiled again, this time
with a more genuine, modest smile.

“I thought my ex would hate the
idea of being named after a bar, but I don’t drink as much now as I
did before I owned the bar?” Roy smiled. “Deepti looks after me
real good. She doesn't mind me working all hours plus she always
here at the bar.”

“Actually, he doesn’t drink at
all now! He loves his work!” Deepti smiled with a wink.

“Sounds like heaven to me,”
Falstaff laughed. “I guess you want for nothing. Do you live
nearby?”

“Just up the road. Near all our
friends! Now, what is it you folks need?” Roy asked.

“Well, I was told out of everyone
in Guwahati that you’re the best mechanic and you’ve got all the
stuff needed to fix anything?”

Roy smiled at the compliment. “Ah
Well, I offer no guarantee and it depends on what you want fixing,
don’t it mate? And where you’re going? The mountains in the winter,
there ain’t no proper roads. The lowest pass is not far by mule and
pack horse? Can’t help you there!”

Falstaff looked from Roy to Zam.
“It’s possible in the summer or spring then?”

“Sure, regularly in the spring,
but that’s by mule. From here takes about three days, to the border
that is. Wait a minute, Christ almighty, that’s a flying jacket
innit?” Roy pointed at the stained woollen collar on Falstaff’s
coat.

“That’s right. I have a plane.
Engines need a little something to help them over the mountains, -
and we’ve got a damaged plug socket?”

“You’re gonna need som’thin’
stronger than Scotch tape then ain’t ya!” Roy chirped. “Lord above,
never heard of anyone flying to Bhutan before!”

As Falstaff trailed after Roy
explaining in detail about the problem with the engine. Zam took in
hand their more immediate needs, ordering dinner.

“So are you two married then?”
Deepti asked as Zam settled on a stool.

“No! I’d sooner marry a bad
tempered crocodile!” Zam snapped.

“You’re cute, cunning I think, a
scheming lady-dog? I know, do you? You can’t fool him all the
time?” Deepti smiled.

Roy’s workshop proved a mine of
materials and chemicals. Falstaff was shown around the lot while
they discussed the performance of the FIAT engines.

While Falstaff talked, Roy loaded
his truck with materials and tools. Toluene additives to increase
octane levels; Lead additives to reduce knock and similar products,
which had been used in aviation gasoline by the likes of the United
States Navy, since 1926. Roy asserted, lighting a cigarette.

“Makes things go with a bit more
of a...” Roy paused, tossing the match aside.

“Bang?” Said Falstaff.

“Aye, I was going to say oomph!”
Roy smiled and continued rummaging.

Roy’s chemical collection,
sporting the Gilmore Oil Company of Los Angeles lion logo, along
with Ethyl, Dutch Boy white lead, En-ar-co Booster. Falstaff
nervously helped search the back of the store, as Roy stood
cigarette in mouth reading the flammable contents out.

After they had eaten, a
vegetarian curry, Roy, who was keen as a little boy in a toy shop
to get his hands on the A.12 engines, drove them back to the
aerodrome. Immediately he jumped up to inspect the damaged plug
fitting the light of a torch. He quickly decided to leave the plug
and socket covered in Firmas-Seccotine overnight.

“Says it's strong as iron!” Roy
called down.